


Qui Porte des Oeillieres

by EriksChampion



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:37:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2150964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EriksChampion/pseuds/EriksChampion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of the semi-final round of the Battle City tournament, two formerly irreconcilable worlds collide</p>
            </blockquote>





	Qui Porte des Oeillieres

There was something special about being the only one left awake. When the eyes of the world were sheathed in darkness and endless silence, when all sounds were muted, when the violent, erratic actions of the living were rendered distant and dulled—that was when her visions were the most forceful and clear. Gazing out at the infinite black, it was easy to believe that Isis was the only one attuned to Earth’s orbit, the only one charting the planet’s progression or keeping time with the celestial odysseys of the constellations.

And that was how it had always been. Since the moment she had first felt the millennium necklace glow in her palms, since the moment she had watched Malik vanish into the horizon—flying off to roam the surface of the Earth while she remained behind, firmly rooted in place—she had been encased in her own endless night, a darkness that no light could penetrate. 

Malik. As divergent as their paths had been, they had both been guided to the same point. And in a few hours the fate of the world would be decided by two children who still greeted the day as if it were a stranger—distant, looming large, and not to be trusted. She shuddered to think of how his soul had turned had turned so sour and dark—how the little boy who had once longed to embrace every surface of the Earth now ached only for its destruction.

He would turn the lights off on the world—if she could not stop him. Save him. 

She frowned at the stars floating above her. If she was successful, she would be the only one who ever had to witness the end of the world—a vision that still thundered through her nightmares. 

The thought made her heart bleak, but her eyes remained trained on the sky above. Focused. Unblinking. Unwavering. Her eyes might water, the stars might smudge and bleed, but her vision would remain fastened on them until there was nothing left to see.

She sighed and shivered, resisting the urge to clutch her arms to her chest. Even gliding thousands of feet above the Earth, she was as tethered as tightly to the ground as ever. Gravity was a force that could only be defied for so long, and Isis had no doubt that soon she would return to where she had always been—craning her neck to gaze up at these same stars, confronted on all sides by the blank wall of an empty horizon. How cold would the world feel then—without even the faintest point of light to guide her, without the fiery eyes of the past peering over her shoulders and tucking her hair behind her ears?

She felt it then—the fibers of her world thinning and fraying—slipping away. The fluttering in her chest. In a well-worn gesture, her grasped the symbol laced around her neck—now glowing bright enough to drown her small room in brilliant light. It melted the frost that she hadn’t noticed had settled on her shoulders until it began to thaw.   
This was the most delicate moment. Isis had spent years training herself to attain the perfect state of objective concentration, of focusing intently on nothing at all and merely observing what unfolded around her in disinterested silence. In her early years she had been prone to distraction and impatience—and the quality of her visions had suffered for it: her visions of the past had been foggy and felt incomplete, her premonitions of the future shallow and empty.

Over the years she had learned that the most effective way to communicate with the Gods was to sacrifice herself to them completely. To abandon her personal thoughts and fears and to be swept away by the wild waves of the Gods’ will. To quiet the movement of every muscle until even the beat of her heart softened and became still. To flush out every hope and every memory until she was as devoid and pure as the vacuum of space. 

The world fell into blackness in those moments, and she fell with it.

It was a feeling that she had taught herself to embrace. With the necklace bound so close to her heart, its presence and its promise of unbroken truth had long been a source of comfort and security. So long as it remained around her neck she spoke with the unshakable voice of the Gods—even if the price she paid to use it was the weight and warmth of her own soul. 

This time, however, the sensation was different. She couldn’t bring herself to smile into the crepuscular rays of destiny. 

Lately the necklace had brought her only images of despair and darkness—violent flashes and thunderclaps of light and noise that burned and broke her as she thrashed and floundered in her knotted sheets—praying for sleep to obliterate her. Longing for her days of subterranean smallness. 

She had forbid herself from praying for something different. It was a futile task—and a dangerous one. As a holy conduit it was her duty to have pure intentions, a vacant and transparent heart.

And yet, there was one small voice that she wasn’t completely able to silence—the voice she had locked away the day Malik had soared away and she had known that her footsteps would never be fast enough to reach him. It was a voice whose whispers had grown more urgent with each nightmarish vision, a voice that refused to be bound down or to sit still. It asked only one question, but Isis had heard it a thousand different ways.

Is this really the way things have to be?

She shook her head and exhaled heavily. Now was not the time to harbor doubts, not when each dawn demanded swift and immediate action. So she closed her eyes, cupped her necklace, and sank beneath the surface of her own consciousness.

The visions always began cloudy. They seemed to swim in and out of existence, not forming fully until she stopped to look at them. The Gods would guide her, grasping a projection from the sea that engulfed her and unfurling it in the light. Then it would truly come alive—the static image would burst and bubble with sensation, and under the ensuing onslaught of texture and scent Isis’ body would crumble to dust and blow away in the great cosmic wind that enraptured her.

That did not happen this time, and it should have been her first indication that something was amiss. The world of portends didn’t shimmer or glow—it felt murky and cool. And even as she struggled to keep her breath slow, deep, and even, the images before her seemed to jerk and rattle. She could feel her own shaking shoulders, aching eyes, clammy hands.

But there was no time to start over. Once the imaging process began it was impossible to control—she could only confine herself in serenity and hope that these irregularities—these fractures in her composure—did not foretell disaster. 

In the distance a pale beam of light began to glow and pierce her. The force emanating from the anchor around her neck pulled her forward, told her that this was the path she was destined to follow. Squinting under the glare of its blistering sliver light, she stepped into the vision—pretending that her knees weren’t trembling.

At first everything was masked in fog. She could make out two shadowy figures who spoke in words as opaque as the mist that surrounded them. One voice—pacific, serious, and clear—she could recognize as her own. The other seemed to dart in swift circles around her. She could not immediately pin it down, but despite the ambiguity there was something in that voice that comforted her, that made her wish that the fog might never lift. For a moment omnipotence felt like a cruel curse, a trick whose strict rules and rigid guidelines trapped more than enlightened her.

But the fog faded, the lines became crisp, her half-articulated thoughts suddenly found a voice and began to yell. Isis felt her ribcage contract when the image before her resolved. It contained no demons and no shadows—only herself. Tenderly embraced in the arms of Seto Kaiba.

Then came the brutal onslaught of sensation. The scent of sleeplessness that clung to his skin. Nearly suffocating. The infinite warmth of his body that stretched farther and penetrated deeper than anything she had ever felt. Pried open to the verge of breaking. An ache that started as a trickle and erupted into a roaring waterfall. A spark that exploded into conflagration. 

Then it stopped, and the feelings drained away. Isis felt her hands reaching forward, groping into the retracting beam of light, trying to catch it before it disappeared completely.  
But there was nothing she could do. The veil between her world and the Gods’ thickened and closed, sealing her back in a cell that suddenly felt unbearably bleak, cold, and vacant. 

Isis’ eyes snapped open. Her hand gravitated towards her necklace, then slid down her chest—where she could feel her heart hot and steaming.  
Was this really what the Gods intended she do?

She shook her head, but the fog of uncertainty still lingered—clouding her eyes and making her fingers tremble. She forced her hands still, willed the rattling whispers in her heart to cease. It had never been her place to question the will of the Gods. They, whose untold number of shimmering eyes gazed down on the Earth with more impassive wisdom than she could over hope to attain. They grasped the meaning of every interlocking moment and crafted it into a towering palace in the clouds—of which she was merely one red earth brick.

And yet—this vision was so different from any she had ever seen before. Indeed, it had been more than seeing—it had been breathing the air of a different planet, rebuilding her body from a material completely new and unfamiliar. And even now—confined as she was to her strict square walls—the entire world seemed to stream in through her window, beckoning her with a warm whisper, reminding her of her first glimpse of sunlight. 

There had been no darkness, no fear; the air had been untainted by the bubbling iron of impending doom. For months the Gods had inundated her with visions of horror until she could see nothing but hopelessness and fear.

And now, for the first time, the jaws of darkness were finally beginning to go slack.

Hands curled into tight fists, jaw firm and resolute, Isis rose, unlocked her door, and began her journey towards a destiny that she had not anticipated but that—now that she had glimpsed it—she could not deny.

-xxx-

“What do you want.”

This was another thing that was different—new. Isis walked with firm footsteps, stood with straight shoulders, never flinched or faltered. She could foretell the apocalypse with a cool voice and placid expression. She had. Isis had learned to weather the winds of death and destruction with solemn dignity, but she had never faced a challenge like this before and now—with it standing so close, glaring down upon her so severely—

She swallowed, but kept her eyes sharp. The infamous eyes of Seto Kaiba may have been enough to send a weaker person cowering into a corner, but Isis had never been deceived by his extravagant demonstrations of austerity. The passing of time had carved heavy scars across his heart, and as much as he might strive to deny it Isis could still see the delicate and damaged tissue—the sleepless nights, the nightmares that, much like her own, rarely died with the rising of the sun, the memories that he had promised himself he would forget—even without the assistance of her necklace. The self-satisfied callousness was merely a clever artifice—one that was both as superficial and as integral to his character as the operatic flare of his trench coat.

“I have an important message for you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Hmph. If it’s another story about your precious pharaoh then can it. I’ve had more than enough of your pointless distractions.”

She shook her head, unable to stop a small smile from curling her lips. “This does not pertain to the Pharaoh.”

“Then stop wasting my time.” He turned to close the door.

Isis thrust her arm through the doorframe. She had expected this to be difficult—everything the Gods asked of her—everything worth doing—always was. But she hadn’t expected to feel so urgent and afraid, to feel the closing of his door like a cold rupture in her heart. Even more unsettling, the moment she pushed herself into his room the presence of the Gods abandoned her. When she spoke again, it was not with their voice, but her own.

“Kaiba, despite what you may choose to believe, you will play a pivotal role in this approaching conflict, the importance of which you cannot begin to comprehend—”

“I’ve told you I’m not interested,” he sneered and leaned against the door. “Now get out.”

“Someday soon you will pay the price for your willful ignorance.”

He scoffed. “Please.”

“I have seen it.” She stiffened her arm and pressed back. “This…arrogance you cling to will only destroy you, if you allow it to darken your vision. To think oneself above the Gods is the ultimate affront to nature, and it will be your downfall.”

“You have a lot of confidence for someone who takes direction from an old piece of jewelry.” He stepped away from the door suddenly, sending her stumbling through the doorway. “Since nothing I say seems to get through to you—does this look like willful ignorance to you?”

They say that the human body is incapable of remembering physical pain. But Isis could still recall—down to the finest, most absolute detail—the first time she had ever seen the sun. Wiping the dust off her hands, her first fragile footsteps before breaking into a run, squinting up into a sky that was bigger than she ever could have imagined. The world had been bright enough to blow her over, large enough to devour her whole. And she remembered every shade of awe and fear and doubt, a pain so pressing and deep, so whole and so young, that she couldn’t tell whether it filled her misery or exultation. 

But, perhaps she wasn’t remembering the feeling. Perhaps she was experiencing it again.

The far wall of Kaiba’s room was an immense bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that saturated every surface with dazzling multicolored light. The entire city of Domino blossomed beneath them. Even at midnight it seemed to shimmer with life, to rattle the bars of darkness.

Kaiba had directed his attention to the computer in the corner and did not seem to notice her gravitating towards the window. She shivered as she pressed her palm against the glass.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she whispered. 

Kaiba raised an eyebrow. “Hmph. That wasn’t what I was talking about. It’s just a window.”

She shook her head. “You cannot grasp the magnificence of what lies directly before you?” The blazing bubblegum billboards, the saffron and coriander ribbons of scent that wafted through the air. The clamor of unfamiliar voices. The flashes of strange smiles and the chaotic rumble of the city streets that echoed all the way down to the center of the Earth. 

“It was not that long ago that only the Gods could obtain a view as magnificent as this.” She smiled. “But that’s why you chose this—isn’t it? To host the final stage of this tournament among the stars?”

He snorted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“To drive them from their home and turn the heavens into another of your battlefields. Or, perhaps…” Malik’s hand clenched tightly in her own, until, suddenly, it wasn’t. “To remind yourself of what you are defending.”

He marched across the room. “Look, lady, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I have more important things to do than listen to your nonsense.” He huffed, crossed his arms, and frowned at her. “Besides, I only fight for myself.”

Isis peered up at him. The jagged lights of the city were reflected in his eyes. “I thought it was a vision that drew me here…”

When they had lived by only the smoky light of a flickering candle, Malik had dreamed of seizing the sun. When they had whispered like corpses underground, he had refused to deny the fire roaring in his blood. And now—after years of convincing herself that she was carved of stone and night and distance—she was suddenly aware of how her feet were no longer on the ground, how every corner of the Earth effused its own light up into the atmosphere, the fragile vitality of her own quivering flesh. How every law was being snapped and broken.

“But I am beginning to believe that it may have been something else…”

“Great.” He turned to walk away. “Well, as interesting as that is…”

“Seto.” He froze at the sound of his own name. “Did you ever consider that fighting for your own pride and glory and fighting to defend the wellbeing of humanity may be one in the same?” He turned back—slowly—to face her. His features were pinched tight, but his eyes were no longer etched with exasperation. “Because…” Because dust stained the sunset crimson, and mist made the morning shimmer. Because Gods now roamed the Earth and resided in their playing cards. Because for the first time in years Malik was mere feet from her, and Seto Kaiba was inches. Because the night sky was so infinitely far away, and he was so incredibly close. “I would like to believe that they could be.”

He turned to the window and shrugged. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Why?”

“People are selfish.”

“Perhaps. But, be that as it may, I wonder if a world untainted by human nature is really a world worth defending.” The thought should have felt like poison inside her, but it only made her smile.

Their reflections in the glass floated above the city, the skyline began to blur, and the lights of the city swam with the stars. They stood in silence for several moments, watching the Earth turn below them.

“In times of tumult and uncertainty, we turn to the ways of the past as a source of comfort and continuity—as a way to better understand the world and our place in it,” she peeled her hand off the glass and caressed the gold band around her neck. “We allow the Gods to rule us because we fear what tragedy may befall us if we are permitted to rule ourselves. It may be our only salvation, but—”

“It’s not salvation—it’s slavery.”

She clenched her necklace tighter with one hand, but gently reached towards him with the other. “It’s the only life I’ve ever known, and it’s given me everything I have.”  
He turned towards her, leaned down—head titled slightly. “And how much has it taken away.”

She tried to look away but succeeded only in leaning closer. “It is my destiny to destroy you.”

He chuckled—low, jagged, dangerous—and pointed at the eye on her necklace. “Did your little crystal ball tell you that.”

“It did.”

“How unfortunate—I don’t feel like listening.”

“You have no choice.”

“You really believe that.”

She had scolded him for years—told him it was too dangerous—too disobedient. But there was a voice she could not silence, a heat and hunger she could not deny, a yearning that not even the Gods could comprehend. And had they held the hands of the Gods’ destiny when they finally broke open their prison door—or had they fallen victim to something far more ancient—the force that drives all living things to search out water and warmth and sunlight?

“Do you always stay up this late?”

He frowned—slightly taken aback. “You try getting work done with all those idiots running around.”

She nodded and stole one last glance at the city shimmering beside her—shining loud enough to obscure the stars. 

“Something tells me that I should be afraid…”

He scoffed. “Fear is powerlessness. If you have control over your own life then you have nothing to be afraid of.”

Standing on the last step, she had paused for a moment, clutching the shadows in her hands, frowning. 

“But, sister,” he had asked her, hand extended, eyes shining with all the lights of Domino City, “Don’t you want to know what else is out there?”

There was a warmth that no vision could have ever foretold, that no God could have ever granted her. A rigidity that melted into something softer and lighter than the first feathers of dawn. A fearlessness and a refuge that could only be obtained in someone else’s arms, hearing his heart rattle in his chest and tasting the tremor in his lips.

The shadows had fallen off her shoulders. She had stepped forward, held his hand, smiling. “Yes, I do.”


End file.
